


bloom

by tozierbraks



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, cw: one homophobic slur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16744273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tozierbraks/pseuds/tozierbraks
Summary: This moment belongs in a movie, Eddie thinks, the only thing missing is a killer soundtrack. He has one hand on the steering wheel, one hanging out the window into the warm spring air. He moves his hand in a wave, catching the wind underneath it. Richie sits beside him, air drumming some imaginary beat. Sun beams down through the windshield and reflects against the dark aviator glasses Eddie wears. He sneaks a glance towards Richie and gets caught when he’s already looking back at Eddie. His toothy grin pulls a smile to Eddie’s own face that bubbles into a happy chuckle.“God, you’re so fuckin’ cute,” Richie groans, feigning annoyance even as he leans over the center console to smack a kiss to Eddie’s cheek.--just another reddie modern au, inspired by troye sivan's album bloom





	1. higher than i've ever been

**Author's Note:**

> trying out a new style with this one, not sure how much i like it yet, warning for one use of a homophobic slur  
> soundtrack not required, but i HIGHLY suggest lucky strike while you read because it's a major vibe~

_**seventeen** _

_I went out looking for love when I was seventeen_  
 _Maybe a little too young, but it was real to me_  
_And in the heat of the night, saw things I'd never seen_   
  
When Eddie Kaspbrak is seventeen he sits on the edge of his bed, his foot tapping an unsteady rhythm on the beige carpet of his bedroom floor. He waits impatiently to hear the closing click of the front door before bouncing to his feet and ripping a sheet of paper out of a notebook on his bedside table.   
  
_At Bill’s for the night_   
_\- Eddie_   
  
He leaves the scribble on the large armchair in the living room, his mother will inevitably see it there when she returns from her church community night. He probably could have just asked her while she was home, Bill’s was a pretty safe bet, but he doesn’t always trust his voice not to tilt when he lied to her. He pulls his navy blue jacket off the hook by the door and grips it in a tight fist, shifting between his feet in front of the door. With a final forced exhale he swings it open and marches to his car. It’s a hand me down, an old silver Volvo that had spent eleven years sitting dormant, the time between his father’s passing and Eddie rushing to get his license the second he turned sixteen. It’s creaky, loud, and needs lots of work, but Eddie puts it all in lovingly, a testament to both the distant reverence he has for his father and to how much he values the freedom the car provides.

He fumbles with the keys, twisting them in the lock and then into the ignition. The car roars to life. With the windows rolled down the clear September breeze rushes through his hair and he merges onto the southbound highway. The drive will be a little over and hour, but he’s used to it. Everything is far apart in Maine. Besides, he’s hoping that the long drive will ease some of the nerves. That is apparently a little naive, by the time he spots the modest city skyline on the horizon his hands are shaking lightly on the wheel. None of his friends know that he’s here, his mother doesn’t know, even the person he was hoping to meet doesn’t know for sure he’s coming. He could disappear here, at least for a while, and no one would worry. It’s comforting and terrifying.

He breezes past the _Welcome to Portland_ sign and maneuvers his way towards Congress St, his eyes peeled for a parking spot. Finding one by the waterfront, Eddie pulls the car over and counts his breaths slowly, in, out, in, out. He pulls the glove compartment open, yanking harshly when it gives him a hard time. Inside is a small, neatly folded note, hidden under a stack of spare napkins. He hadn’t dared to bring it inside his house. More surprisingly, he hadn’t shown it to any of the Losers. Just once he wants to do this on his own, explore his instinct, and deal with the aftermath in private, good or bad. He unfolds the note and reads it again, scanning for any mistake.  
  
_Friday night_ . Check.   
_9:00_ . Check.   
_Styxx_. He looks down the street in the direction of the nightclub. Check.

A week ago had been his high school’s homecoming football game and all of the Losers were there to support Mike, cheesy posters proudly displayed over their heads. Eddie had spent most of the night wrapped under Richie’s arm, a typical tradition for the two of them anywhere chilly. Eddie’s excuse was that he was sapping Richie’s body heat, Richie just seemed to like it. Eddie loved Mike, but he didn’t especially love football, his eyes soon began to wander the crowd on the benches across the field, surveying the enemy. A bright smile caught his gaze, a boy with sandy brown hair wearing a too-big jersey in their rival’s colors. Eddie tried to look away, but found himself stuck on the other boy’s pretty hazel eyes, still staring back into Eddie’s own. His cheeks burned when he realized that smile was meant for him, and he awkwardly returned the boy’s small wave just a little too late. The moment was broken when Derry scored, Bev shaking him by the shoulders while the crowd erupted.

When the game ended they joined the flood off of the bleachers, the six of them getting swept in four different directions. Without the warmth of Richie’s body heat Eddie shivered and stuffed his hands in his (empty) pockets. Shit.  
  
“Keys fell out of my pocket,” he shouted to Richie over the crowd.  
  
“Want me to come with?”  
  
“No,” Eddie waved him on, “I’ll meet you by the car.” A brisk nod and Richie was off, leaving Eddie to fight his way back through the current. He weaved his way through, leading roughly with his shoulder. Almost all the way back to the bleachers he felt someone grab his hand and jumped away from the unexpected touch, whipping his head to find the culprit. The boy with sandy hair stood there, smiling.   
  
“Sorry,” he laughed. He reached for Eddie again, and he didn’t pull away this time. The boy dropped a square of notebook paper into his hand and carefully folded Eddie’s fingers closed over it, squeezing once before dropping his hand and disappearing into the crowd. Mouth gaping like a fish, Eddie was shoved around by a few impatient strangers before he snapped back to reality, unfolding the note while he hurried to find his keys. 

He had spent the next six days ricocheting between a bubbling giddiness and gut-wrenching anxiety, changing his mind a hundred times about whether or not he would go. Now, standing on an old wooden boardwalk over the ocean, he closes his eyes and lets his breathing melt with the waves, inhaling the salty air and exhaling his nerves to breeze over the water. He turns and begins the short walk to the bar. _What if he isn’t there? What if he’s disappointed when we actually talk? What if-_ But the boy is standing there by the corner of the brick building, smiling that same dazzling smile, and then there’s nothing to think about except the way Eddie’s chest swells with excitement.

After shy introductions the boy pulls Eddie into the bar, slipping past the bouncer who is clearly a friend. It’s only 18+ night anyways, they aren’t being especially scandalous. Either way, neither of them is interested in doing anything but being with each other. The night slips by too quickly for Eddie’s liking, lost in a blur of nervous laughter and barely brushing touches. They end up in Eddie’s car, the boy wound around him in the backseat, his arms crossed around Eddie’s neck. Their kisses are messy and their touches are desperate, but when it’s over they grin lazily at each other. Eddie buries his face into the boy’s shoulder, his heart beating a happy confirmation when he feels gentle lips on his temple.

* * *

 

**_my my my!_ **

_Now, let's stop running from love_   
_Running from love_   
_Let's stop, my baby  
Let's stop running from us_

It’s May, and Maine is warm and breezy during the day but still brisk at night. Since that September Eddie has shared the story with his friends, confirming what had sort of gone unsaid before, he’s definitely gay. They had been kind, not that he had been expecting anything less. Bill clapped him on the back and c-c-congratulated him, Ben offered a sincere smile, Bev laughed and applauded. Richie’s nose turned up, he was quiet. That was fine with Eddie, nobody could take this exciting feeling of certainty from him.

Nobody except his mother, at least, who continues to hiss shallow barbs at anyone around town who struck her as “immoral.” She is a lonely woman, so her son hears all of her gossip.  
  
_“Any two men who bother keeping a house that nice must be queers.”_   
_  
_One hundred and two more days, he reminds himself. He had been accepted to a state school in Connecticut, just far enough to be an inconvenient drive for Sonia, just close enough to be near Bill who would be attending UMass Amherst. He’ll ship out for orientation August 27th. In the meantime he tries to shrug off these snide comments, still feeling them dig a little into his back before falling at his feet.

He replays that night a million times in his head, laying on his bed and remembering the flutter in his chest when the boy laughed, how his fingers had warmed Eddie’s skin. Eddie hovers over his contact name in his phone, willing himself to call.

He doesn’t.  
_  
_Instead, he keeps spending all of his time with his friends. He keeps spending all of his time with Richie. Because now that he’s sure he likes boys he’s definitely sure he likes Richie, and if the other boy’s laugh had made his heart flutter, Richie’s makes it slam like a drum. If the other boy’s touch had warmed his skin, Richie’s makes it burn hot with even casual touches, so he doesn’t call. It wouldn’t be fair.

It’s torturous, letting himself spend every night with Richie. Sometimes they join up with different members of their club, but most nights it’s just the two of them, in Eddie’s car up high on a hill above Derry, or out by the quarry, their legs swinging over the cliff, or alone in Eddie’s bedroom, half-whispering under the sound of whatever movie they put on to hide from Sonia. He justifies it by telling himself that they’re all leaving at the end of the summer anyways, he’ll indulge in his hopeless crush for a couple more months and then hopefully find a few more promising prospects in Connecticut. So he lets himself melt into these nights, knowing that he’s reading too far into the way Richie’s eyes shine at him. _One hundred and two more days._

It’s still May when Richie gathers them all in his bedroom, closing the door behind their parade. When he turns around there’s a glint in his eye, contrasting with the way his right hand nervously tangles into his hair, tugging lightly. He’s got news. He had a date last week.  
  
“Well, not really a date, we just ended up hanging out, whatever.” Eddie is confused, this feels more like a group chat message than a whole group conference, but Richie elaborates. It was a boy. Theo Mathis, his neighbor. He’s telling the story now, about how he had been smoking in his backyard when Theo had pushed the gate open, apparently having spotted Richie from his window. Eddie can barely hear him over an annoying ringing in his ears. It was apparently not unusual for Theo to pop over, for them to sit on the wooden bench swing on the Tozier back deck and talk. Except that this time Theo had snuck his hand into Richie’s while they talked. Eddie stares at his sneakers.   
  
“And then he fuckin’ kisses me,” Richie is still gushing. Eddie’s hand rubs at his chest, pressing too hard.   
  
“So you’re gay now?” He interrupts, spitting it like venom. Richie’s smile falters.   
  
“Both, I think,” he says, his bravado fumbling. “Like, girls and guys.” He’s still looking at Eddie, and Eddie feels guilty at the way his face is crumbling. The guilt isn’t stronger than the anger, though. He stands from his spot sitting on Richie’s bed, grabs his jacket, and marches out the door. No one follows him.

Later he lays in his bed, staring at his dark phone screen. Richie hasn’t called, he hasn’t texted. Eddie thought he would. He’s still angry, but mostly at himself now. Bev texts him about an hour after he leaves.  
  
_that was pretty shitty_   
  
_Yeah_ , Eddie thinks, _I know_ . He also knows he should be the one to call, but he’s ashamed. _You’re not entitled to him_ , he reminds himself. _He’s not yours_.

He picks up the phone, taps his thumb just next to the home button, and puts it back down again. He pictures the conversation, it always starts and ends the same.  
  
“I’m sorry.”   
“Why not me?”  
  
It’s the ending that keeps him in his bed, his phone a foot away from his fingertips. He doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t trust himself not to ask. His stubborn pride holds fast in his chest, trying valiantly to push away the memory of Richie’s hurt expression. Another buzz from his phone makes him jump. He snatches it quickly. Just another text from Bev, longer this time. He doesn’t read it. Instead he gets up and grabs his jacket again, sighing as he shimmies his window open and lifts himself through. His footsteps pound as he runs across the pavement.

Richie’s bedroom lamp shines dimly towards the street as Eddie approaches his house. The Tozier’s home is bigger than his own, he has to cross a wide front lawn to stand underneath Richie’s window, craning his neck to look up at the second story. Grabbing a handful of small stones from the gravel driveway, Eddie swallows the bile building in his throat and hurls one up. It takes a few tries to actually hit the window, and a few more after that to get Richie’s attention. His curly head of hair pops up, frowning when he sees Eddie. He rolls his eyes and disappears. Unsure of his next move, Eddie just stands there. He’s pulling out his phone when the front door swings open, Richie standing on the other side in a ratty t-shirt and striped cotton pajama pants.

He walks out on the dewey grass to stand too far away from Eddie, hands in his his pockets, his expression distant. His glasses are a little crooked. Eddie scratches an itch on his own cheek.

“Sorry,” he whispers.  
  
“S’okay.”   
  
“No, it’s not.” Eddie counts the blades of grass by his right shoe. The silence is too long to be comfortable. When Eddie finally looks up Richie’s brows are pinched, confused, not angry.   
  
“I just don’t get it, Eds.” The nickname should diffuse the tension, but there’s so much hurt in Richie’s tone that it just stings. “I just…” He trails off with a frustrated sigh, bringing one hand up to fist in his messy dark curls. A sharp pinch in Eddie’s lip tells him he’s chewing it too hard. He’s stumbling over the words in his head, trying to arrange them any way that doesn’t leave him too vulnerable. It’s a losing battle. He gives in.

“Why not me?” It tumbles out, too fast and low.  
  
“What?”   
  
He steels himself, hands clenched at his sides, and locks his eyes on Richie’s.   
  
“Why not me?”   
  
Richie doesn’t look exactly surprised, but his lips part. In two long strides he’s crossed the distance between them. He speaks, and it sounds like a sigh of relief. 

“Eddie…”  
  
The kiss is awkward. Richie grabs Eddie’s face to pull him forward and his thumb gets in the way, pressing hard into Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie forgets to remember to breathe, so he takes a sharp inhale through his nose that ends up as a small snort. It makes Richie laugh, stumbling away so he doesn’t blow spit into Eddie’s mouth.   
  
“Shut up, Rich,” Eddie sputters, but the laughter is contagious. Soon they’re both doubled over, bumping their shoulders together on the Tozier lawn, giggling into the dark. Eddie yelps as Richie tackles him into the grass. The next kiss is easier.

* * *

 

**_lucky strike_ **

_'Cause you're safe like springtime_   
_Short days, long nights, boy  
Tell me all the ways to love you_

_'Cause you taste like Lucky Strikes_   
_You drag, I light, boy  
Tell me all the ways to love you_

This moment belongs in a movie, Eddie thinks, the only thing missing is a killer soundtrack. He has one hand on the steering wheel, one hanging out the window into the warm spring air. He moves his hand in a wave, catching the wind underneath it. Richie sits beside him, air drumming some imaginary beat. Sun beams down through the windshield and reflects against the dark aviator glasses Eddie wears. He sneaks a glance towards Richie and gets caught when he’s already looking back at Eddie. His toothy grin pulls a smile to Eddie’s own face that bubbles into a happy chuckle.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ cute,” Richie groans, feigning annoyance even as he leans over the center console to smack a kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

Still smiling, Eddie spins the the wheel sharply to make the turn he always almost-misses onto a thin, winding dirt road. Flashes of bright green decorate the windows as they drive deeper into the forest, interrupted occasionally by the insistent deeper green of the Maine pines. The car thuds over some more deep potholes as a small cabin comes into view. It’s so tiny it looks like a dollhouse, the outside walls painted in shabby light blue. The lake spreading out in front of it makes it looks even smaller.

The car skids to a stop in its usual spot and Richie bounds out right away, approaching the old screen door and slipping his finger behind it to flip the hook latch up and out so he can swing the door in. Eddie steps past where he’s holding it open and collapses on the couch on the screened in front porch. The cabin is so old that it sits almost on top of the lake, a relic from the 1920’s, exempt from modern building safety codes. Richie’s parents bought it a decade ago and have hosted the entire club there more times than any of them could count. Inside it’s just three small rooms: a living room with an unusable fireplace, a bedroom, and a kitchen so small they could barely both stand in it at once. There are no doors inside and the walls don’t actually reach the ceiling. The whole place smells musty and the old wooden beams make weird noises sometimes. To Eddie, that summer, it’s heaven.

Richie strolls inside while Eddie stays sprawled on the couch on the porch, breathing with the sound of the lake splashing against the shoreline. He jumps when the door bangs open and Richie reappears with dark bottles of beer for them both. He stands on the couch and wiggles himself so Eddie’s back is against him, his long arms wrapping tightly around Eddie’s chest. Maine in the summer is magic, as long as you have nowhere to be. Sun shines in and dapples Eddie’s hair with highlights. He twists Richie’s fingers between his own, thrilled just to be able to touch without needing a reason. They might not move until it gets dark, unless it’s to leap into the lake. More likely they’ll stay on the couch, shifting until Eddie is inevitably laying on Richie’s chest, indulging in slow, lazy kisses.

Even after the sun dips over the wall of thick trees across the water they stay there, Richie’s nose buried in Eddie’s hair. Eddie doesn’t always smile easy. Even when he’s happy he’s naturally neutral, but now he smiles into Richie’s chest for no good reason except that Richie is close enough to smile into.  
  
“Let’s just move in here, fuck college,” he mumbles. Richie laughs and pulls him impossibly closer, pressing a kiss into his hair. _Thirty-six days_ echoes somewhere in Eddie’s mind but he lets it pass through, paying it no attention. He rises to shift his body around so he’s facing Richie instead, carefully balancing his shins on the couch on either side of Richie’s thighs. He tangles his fingers in Richie’s messy hair and yanks him in for a rough kiss, they’re better at those than soft and sweet. Richie hums happily, digging his fingers into Eddie’s waist as he nips at his lower lip. When he pulls back Eddie follows him, chasing the addictive sensation, but Richie puts a hand to his chest, pushing him lightly away. He sits up, his eyebrows dipping in confusion. Before he can ask, Richie answers. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, his hand wrapped tightly around the back of Eddie’s neck.   
  
“Love you, Eds.”   
  
And technically Eddie probably already knew, had definitely heard it a million and one times while they were still just friends, but hearing it now sends his heart beating like crazy. He tackles Richie flat onto the couch now, trying his best to make the kiss great even as his entire body vibrates. Richie isn’t helping, his own mouth spreading into a wide grin and making it nearly impossible for Eddie to pour the excitement shooting from his gut to his fingertips into this kiss. Frustrated, he moves down to Richie’s jaw, then to his neck, shivering when Richie’s chuckle turns breathy. He pauses, realizing it’s his turn now. The words almost get stuck, his instinct to be guarded catching them in his throat until he pushes past, suddenly desperate for Richie to know.

“Love you too, Rich.”

They wake up the next morning tangled in the sheets of the queen size bed that takes up most of the small bedroom. Eddie is up first, typical, and as badly as he wants to let Richie sleep he wants the time with him more. He runs his hand down Richie’s side, brushing over the bare skin until he reaches his abdomen. Then, after a long last look at his peacefully sleeping face, he digs his fingers in and tickles Richie awake, laughing at his awkward squawk.   
  
“Little devil!” Richie shouts before he twists away and grabs Eddie’s wrists, pressing them back into the mattress beside his head. His retaliation is short-lived, as soon as he gets his hands close enough to Eddie he’s grabbing him to pull him closer, any thought of revenge forgotten. He yanks Eddie on top of him, the heat of their naked chests together is dizzying as he leans up to try and kiss Eddie. Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth.   
  
“Gross, go brush your teeth, trashmouth.” Instead, he bites Eddie’s palm and rolls him over so Eddie’s back is flush to his chest. He trails open-mouthed kisses down to the back of Eddie’s neck, over his shoulder, down his back. He nibbles Eddie’s ear, pulls him in tighter, buries his nose in his hair and Eddie is again overwhelmed by how _wanted_ Richie makes him feel. He flips around and noses at Richie’s jaw, tilting his face up to brush their lips together.   
  
“Thought you said,” Richie mumbles against his mouth. Eddie can hear the smirk in his voice.   
  
“Shut up.”   
  
Thirty-six days flies faster than Eddie thought was possible, though he doesn’t really have time to think about it with all of his energy focused on being wrapped up in Richie and soaking in as much of his friends as possible before they part. Richie is going just about as far as he can, all the way to California. Eddie leaves before him, and it’s probably easier that way. Both of them play at being casual as they leave last lingering kisses, and then Eddie is gone.


	2. sympathize, recognize, apologize

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel weird about this one being so short, but i also don't wanna drag it out for the sake of a word count so.

**_plum_ **

_Baby, we're barely holding, holding on_

_Even the sweetest plum_

_Has only got so long_

College is fine, really. Eddie’s roommate is kind enough, though they aren’t exactly fast friends. His dorm is painted a stark white over the large bricks that build the walls. Connecticut isn’t so different from Maine, except that the houses in the suburbs are packed closer together. His major is undeclared with no real prospects, so he’s treading water through some general education requirements. It’s fine.

The first few weeks away weren’t easy; he missed his friends, he missed Richie, he even almost missed his mother. Mostly Richie, though. It hurt enough that he almost wished he had just stuck to the plan, waited out a few more months ignoring their chemistry and started fresh down here. Then Richie would call, his goofy smile filling up Eddie’s phone screen and he would melt all over again, thankful for his weak self-control.

Now, in October, he’s settling in to the routine. He and Bill make the drive to each other a couple times a month, Eddie actually has more friends up in Amherst than at his own school. He’s landed a job at a nearby auto shop, easily more fulfilled there than he is in his boring classes. But college is what he’s “supposed” to do, so he does it. Richie calls almost every night, but his schedule is filling up as he jumps into extracurriculars. He babbles excitedly about his classes, his clubs, his friends and Eddie feels proud, happy that he’s happy. He isn’t self-aware enough yet to recognize the gnawing jealousy starting to growl in his gut. He still means it when they sign off,  
  
“Love you, Eds.”  
“Love you too, Rich.”

Richie doesn’t make it back for Thanksgiving, Eddie spends it pushing food around his plate at his aunt’s house.

December brings the holiday break which means back to Derry. Eddie is the last to arrive. He pulls his car into Bill’s driveway before his own, using a little white lie to tell his mother he’d be back in Maine the next day. He smiles when he sees the glowing light from the small basement window, doesn’t bother knocking on the Denbrough front door. Mike is in the kitchen when he swings it open and greets him with his warm smile, it’s the most at home Eddie’s felt in three months. Crossing the living room, he opens the door to the basement and troops down the stairs. Bill is the first to spot him, waving, when-  
  
“Eds!” Richie comes in like a tidal wave, sweeping Eddie into his arms and spinning. Eddie spouts half-hearted complaints until Richie puts him down, smacking a kiss to his lips. They spend a long moment in their own world, eyes locked, smiling, until Bev pulls them in for a group hug and they fall back into the group routine.

He goes home with Richie that night and get basically tossed into the bed by his overzealous boyfriend, intent on all but eating him alive. Later, they talk about school and it goes much the same as it always does; Richie is all enthusiasm, Eddie is muted. He falls asleep on Richie’s chest, angry at himself because all he can think about is how much he’ll hate it when Richie’s gone again.

Back at school, he feels worse. Maybe it hadn’t really settled in that after getting through that one semester, he had seven more to go. It hits him all at once how miserable he is, bored and lonely. He breaks down on the phone with Richie, who tries to give helpful advice.  
  
“Join a club, get to know some people.”  
  
It only makes Eddie bitter in the moment. Sure, that’s easy for Richie to say. People are drawn to him, for all his weird quirks. He’s got plenty of friends (wouldn’t he rather be spending time with them than listening to Eddie’s moping anyway?). He’s pursuing what he loves (Eddie’s probably just holding him back from that, couldn’t Richie be rehearsing or something instead of listening to Eddie’s whining?). Ironically on cue, someone on Richie’s end calls his name and pops into the Facetime frame. It’s a cute young man, definitely Richie’s type (so what’s he waiting around on Eddie for?) and he apologizes when he sees he’s interrupted. Richie waves him off.  
  
“Sorry, Eds, technically at improv rehearsal.” Eddie ushers him off the phone, reassuring him that he’s fine, they can talk later. Richie protests, but gives in when Eddie tells him to go for the third time. Eddie hangs up, and for the first time it actually feels _too_ painful that Richie’s not there.

With some distance from the conversation, Eddie considers Richie’s advice more thoughtfully. He probably should put himself out there. He picks his schools LGBT group. He’s not very activist-y, but he’s feeling impulsive and it’s definitely out of his comfort zone. Richie is proud the next time they talk, then he has to go because he’s late for dinner plans. Eddie does meet some new people and pushes past his pickiness over some of their idiosyncrasies. When you’ve had the same six friends for as long as you can remember you fall out of practice with having patience for strangers; he makes the active choice to be better. Richie is supportive on the phone, and then he has to hang up because his professor wants to meet with him about a campus radio show. Eddie sighs but isn’t surprised, It’s a pattern.

Soon he meets a boy with a handsome smile, Zack, at an event for the organization. They talk over drinks and Eddie finds himself spilling some of the same insecurities he’s shared with Richie. When he’s done, Zack offers similar words of wisdom, and doesn’t have to hang up the phone, doesn’t have to leave at all. Later, when Richie hangs up with a sweet good night, Eddie realizes he is tired.

He goes home for spring break in March dreading this conversation.  
  
  
**the good side**

_My fingers danced and swayed in the breeze_

_The change in the wind took you down to your knees_

_I got the good side of you_

_Sent it out into the blue_

When Eddie drives into Derry in late May he heads straight home. He’s there for four days before he texts Bill. Everyone’s already there, apparently, in the middle of some movie marathon.  
  
_come join_

Easier said than done, now. But, stubborn as ever, Eddie refuses to lose his six favorite people over this. He drives slowly over to the house, taking fifteen minutes to do a ten minute drive. His stomach is in his ass when he gets out of the car, and he definitely might throw up. He knocks this time and waits for Sharon to answer the door, greeting him politely. The basement door creaks open too loudly, his footsteps are too heavy on the way down. Ben greets him warmly, Mike and Stan smile from their place on one of the small couches. Beverly watches him warily, Richie doesn’t look up. The conversation is stilted all night, but their collective energy is still undeniable. It will get better, just not yet. He catches Richie’s eye once, his heart breaking again at his small, false smile.

Over the course of the summer it does get a little better. He ends up opening up to Bev about the way he feels at school, stagnant and unhappy. He knows it will probably get back to Richie, actually hopes it does because it’s easier than telling him himself. Bev considers her words carefully, sharing only tiny pieces of how Richie is handling himself. Not well, apparently. He weaves between angry, confused, and hurt. She trails off, giving Eddie an expectant look, like he’ll fill in the pieces if she gives him the space. Except there are no hidden pieces here, Eddie has been as straightforward as he can be. Any questions that Bev still has Eddie can’t even answer for himself. He says as much, and her shoulders fall, she believes him, the wall can start to come down.

The club almost feels whole again by the middle of June, spending most of their free time in Mike’s huge backyard. Eddie and Richie don’t drive out to the cliff anymore, Richie never knocks on his bedroom window. Eddie often feels Richie’s eyes on him, though, and he squirms a little uncomfortably. He doesn’t mention Zack, who ended up being not much of anything, but Bev is inconveniently holding his phone when another new fling sends a flirty text. He’s sure that will also make it back to Richie. His chest is tight.

He still feels an itch under his skin most of the time, restless and unsatisfied. It sends another rush of impulse through him and he decides he should come out to his mother, close up the loose thread. She gets very quiet when he announces it over dinner, finishes her meal and silently retreats to her bedroom. Eddie feels small in a way that only she could ever make him feel. It’s not unexpected, but it hurts. He curls into himself on his bed and sends a text to that boy he’s been texting who responds with kind, flat phrases, cookie-cutter. Staring at his phone his finger hovers over his thread with Richie, empty since March. Compromising, he texts the entire club group chat instead and gets responses with real feeling, frustration, pity, anger. It’s about twenty minutes before he gets a text from just Richie.

 _sorry if this is weird but fuck her_  
  
His heart stutters while he shoots back a response.  
_  
not weird, and yeah_

That’s the end of it, but it feels like an olive branch. The next time they’re all together Richie chooses a seat next to Eddie by the campfire, chancing a few of his old off color jokes and even bringing back a couple of old nicknames. It’s confusing, simultaneously an enormous relief and enormously painful.  
  
  
**postcard**  
  
_I'm undone about to burst at my seams_

_'Cause I am picturing you beside me_

_So let me be everything that you need_

College was supposed to be better with a few more friends, with this club, without having to miss Richie all the time. It isn’t. Everyone around Eddie is really getting into what they want to do, they feel passionate, they’re doing to change the world doing something-or-another. Eddie still isn’t sure what he’s going to do. His time is ticking, he only has so many gen ed requirements to fill before he needs to start taking some specifics. He browses endlessly through his options, briefly flickering around the Psychology page, then around the Nursing page, then around the Engineering page. With a dramatic sigh he closes (slams) his laptop and heads to work.

The loneliness is even more frustrating. While he admittedly hasn’t put enough effort into finding his dream job, he has put effort into finding a group. He has a few people to eat lunch with, a couple of options for dorms to hang out in on a Friday, and these new friends are all okay. Just okay. He’s sort of seeing someone but it’s a chore, he knows his heart isn’t in it. It’s sinking in that you can’t build something out of nothing, and so far his college experience is a whole lot of nothing.

Thankfully he still has Bill close, and the Losers group chat keep him sane. He still can’t get a good read on his relationship with Richie, but he traverses it like a tightrope, desperately trying to keep a friendly balance. It’s driving him crazy. The whole point was to _stop_ thinking about Richie all the time, but he feels the absence even more acutely now that he can’t even get a few minutes of a phone call.  
  
It’s early November when he snaps. Richie sounds confused when he answers after only one ring.  
  
“Eddie? Is everything okay?”  
  
No, but that isn’t what Richie’s asking. He’s probably wondering if someone died, so Eddie keeps his shit together enough to reassure him, yes, everything’s fine. I just wanted to hear your voice. Then he laughs at his own cliche.  
  
“Sorry if this is weird.”  
  
“Not weird.”  
  
Their conversation is brief, Eddie stays guarded. He calls again the next night, and the one after that. Then Richie calls him. Soon it’s a routine, thirty minutes a night minimum. Eddie can pretend it’s casual enough, they mostly just shoot the shit about their days. Every day. Like friends. It’s only when Richie says good night that the affection in his tone becomes nearly undeniable. Eddie denies it anyways.

He shoots a text to Zack inviting him over to watch a movie. He really means it, too, he just wants to watch a movie. He knows, though, that Zack will let Eddie lean on his shoulder, lay on his chest, even let Eddie kiss him a little if he feels like it. Eddie never really feels like kissing Zack, but sometimes he feels like kissing _someone._ Only problem is that kissing Zack doesn’t actually scratch that itch, kind of makes it more frustrating actually. He tries with a couple of other boys during the semester, same results. Eventually Eddie stops trying.

The next time he gets that craving he calls Richie.  
  
“Hey, Eds.”  
  
When they started talking again Eddie had been snappy about that nickname, it made his stomach twist (‘I hate it when you call me that, Richie.’) Undeterred, Richie still used it every time, increasingly honey-sweet. Today it’s absolutely dripping. Eddie smiles despite himself.  
  
“Hi, Rich.”  
  
After they hang up Eddie still feels like kissing _someone_ , but not just any someone. Eddie really feels like kissing Richie. He folds himself under his blankets, pulls them over his face, and groans loudly, his fists clenching. He tells himself over and over that his decision makes sense, they’re too far apart, he should just let him go. Just like he _should_ just keep trying with his new “friends.” Just like he _should_ get through college. With all this swirling around his head the frustration grows into bubbling anger, boiling up through his chest. _Fuck this, fuck her, fuck_ should _._ He leaps out of his bed, swings the door open to check up and down the hall for his roommate, and jumps back on his bed, his legs folded tightly underneath him. He picks up his phone and jabs at his contacts until he finds- The phone barely rings once before Richie answers, curious and a little breathless.  
  
“Eddie?”  
  
“I fucked up.”

Richie laughs.  
  
“Yeah, you did.”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Richie’s response is a loud, exuberant exhale.  
  
“Thank fuck, Eds.”

It still fucking sucks that Richie can’t be there, but this yearning is a million times better than desperately chasing something he can’t find in a parade of strangers. If missing Richie is what it takes to have Richie at all, then he’ll take it.

As soon as the semester ends he speeds down to highway, tearing into Richie’s driveway, running past Maggie on the couch with a wave, and throwing himself onto Richie lounging on his bed. Richie’s eyes widen in surprise but his arms reflexively tighten around Eddie’s shoulders, while Eddie’s wrap around Richie’s middle, holding him fiercely. He presses kisses into Eddie’s hair until Eddie cuts him off with a rushed, messy kiss. When they head over to Bill’s together the club welcomes them with cheers. Eddie absolutely can not stop smiling tucked under Richie’s arm, warmth spreading through him that he hasn’t felt since he left that August.

When the break ends he feels so desperately sad driving back to school, uncharacteristic tears welling in his eyes. His fingers start to turn white from how tightly he grips the steering wheel. Something in him snaps when he pulls into the parking lot, as he walks through the bleary Connecticut cold to push open the glass door to his dorm building. Suddenly, Eddie can’t fathom looking at this everyday for two and a half more years, he might actually explode. The truth that he hadn’t been able to find suddenly snaps into place.

He had changed the wrong part of the equation, blamed himself for not fitting into his surroundings without considering maybe he wasn’t the piece that needed to change. He reflects on all this in a flurry of packing, shoving all that he can fit haphazardly into his small red suitcase. With a final sweep of his eyes around his room, he slams the door closed behind him and races to his car. He hits his hand against the dashboard, willing it to make it through this trip.

Four days later his suitcase thuds on concrete steps as he raises his hand to knock on a pale blue front door.


End file.
